The sounds of change, perhaps
by MLaw
Summary: Illya, while on a mission, tries to avoid being involved in a police action in Czeckoslovakia. Originally posted for the Song Story challenge on Section7mfu, live hournal. The prompt was Simon and Garfunkles "The Sounds of Silence."


He walked the busy streets of Prague with caution, as there were just too many secret police lurking about. The political mood in Czechoslovakia was in turmoil with different men jockeying for positions of power, making for an unstable situation. Their Soviet Masters were keeping a close eye on the region, as were other member of the Union, remaining wary as the seeds of change were taking root.

Illya Kuryakin waded through a throng of people on the narrow cobblestone street, as they hurried to bow in obeisance to their current neon god as a band of demonstrators appeared out of nowhere, these impromptu gatherings with people bowing to in obeisance to their current neon god.

They were spouting rhetoric without listening to their own words, and were simply parroting the rants of others. It really didn't matter what they were verbalizing at the moment, as Kuryakins focus had been the assignment he'd been tasked with, and that had now been complete. His mind was trained on the fact that he needed to get out of 'Dodge' as his partner Napoleon liked to say.

The weather was cold and damp, not like spring was supposed to be in this part of the world, and he pulled up the collar of his black trench coat to ward off the chill.

Illya rounded the corner, escaping the demonstrators and entering a lower class neighborhood; seeing political graffiti scrawled there on the walls and inside the doorways of the tenements. Here no one was outside since it was too dangerous, especially as the sun faded away.

Passing under the light of a street lamp, for a moment illuminating his golden blond hair, and he stepped away from its brightness, trying to remain invisible in the shadows. He shrugged his coat, drawing it tightly about him, and suddenly became aware of of how quiet it was...too quiet.. There wasn't a sound at all, giving him a nervous feeling, as if it were the calm before the storm.

The Russian's instincts served him well as the silence was shattered with a thunderous explosion, sending deadly shards of glass and debris cascading down on him . There were screams, and fires erupting everywhere; the pulsating wail of sirens filled the air.

He had to get out of here. Illya ran, heading down side road after side road, turning left and right until he was far away from the destruction that had taken place.

No doubt thousands...maybe even tens of thousands would suffer this night, as surely more terroristic acts would take place. The country was a pressure cooker, ready to explode.

Hours had gone by until Kuryakin finally reached his seedy hotel, stashing the microfilm he had procured earlier that evening in a safe place and pulled his communicator from his pocket, contacting New York.

"Open Channel D- Overseas relay, Waverly." He glanced at his wristwatch, calculating the time to be around six in the evening there, but the previous day, as it was midnight here."

"Mr. Kuryakin, yes," Waverly cleared his throat. No doubt the Old Man was having his evening tea, like clockwork.

"I have the microfilm sir and will endeavor to get out of the country tomorrow morning. An unrest of large proportions is occurring is at the moment, with bombs going off around the city. No doubt the military will be called in, if they haven't been already."

"Not a surprise young man, as we are aware of Soviet troops staged along the border should they be needed. This dissention and attempt at reform, especially the decentralization of administrative authority, has not been well received well by the Soviets. It's only a matter of time before military action takes place, this no most likely will be their impetus to enter the country. Yes, leave tomorrow morning at the latest Mr. Kuryakin, and with all alacrity. I do not want you getting caught up in any police action. Contact me once you have crossed the border to Austria. Waverly Out."

There was nothing Illya could do but wait out the night in darkness. Like an old friend, it would keep him safe until the morning, when he could make his way to the railway station at Praha Masarykovo nádraží located in the New Town area of Prague.

He watched out the window, holding his Special against his chest as the flashes from more explosions and fires lit up the night sky. A storm blew in, adding lightning and the rumblings of thunder to the cacophony in the streets as silent raindrops fell...at least helping to quench the flames.

Finally hia eyes grew heavy and he fell into a restless sleep, half-dreaming of the speeches of a tyrant who mesmerized the German people into nearly destroying Europe. It was like a cancer that spread across the continent…. was that happening now or were there changes taking place for the better?

Only time would tell.

The sounds of silence returned with the rising of the sun, and as the U.N.C.L.E. agent, stepped out to the streets he could detect the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder.

The Russian hurried his was to the railway station, carrying nothing with him but a rolled up newspaper tucked under his arm. He'd put on his spectacles trying to look as innocuous as possible, just a man on his way to work. Not everyone was abandoning the city and life was continuing in spite of the previous nights terror.

The microfilm he carried, tucked safely within a hollowed-out heel of his shoe, would remain invisible if he were stopped and searched. Though carrying his gun could cause him trouble in the long run.

As expected the station was busy, bursting with people; there was police presence and soldiers everywhere. Anyone boarding a train was being being searched. He hated to do it, but it was time to abandon his gun and holster. Illya went into the mens room and removed it, burying it in a trash can. After purchasing a two-way ticket, he stepped up in line, waiting to be searched.

"Papíry, prosím?"

He handed over his false passport and travel documents, identifying him as a professor at the University there in Prague.

"And why are you going to Austria...trying to escape are you?"

"No sir, as you see I have a return ticket in four days. I am a guest speaker at a symposium being held at the University of Vienna. When that is concluded, I do wish to return home...I do have classes to teach at the University, despite this terrible situation here. I do hope it can be stopped quickly."

Illya's attempt at conversation was ignored...

"And what is it you are speaking about?" He was curtly asked.

"Shrödingers cat...having to do with quantum physics," Kuryakin answered blandly, holding up a brochure for a science symposium, the date of which had been torn away.

"Schrödingers cat? You are talking about a cat?"

"It is merely the name of a theory, not a real cat," Illya smiled at him as he began to chatter, hoping it would distract the man. "It is a thought experiment, sometimes described as a paradox, devised by an Austrian physicist named Schrödinger. It illustrates what was seen as the problem of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics applied to everyday objects, resulting in a contradiction with common sense. The scenario presents a cat that may be both alive and dead, depending on an earlier random event…." *

"Enough, enough," the policeman interrupted him, waving his hands in surrender. " You have no luggage with you?"

"I keep some clothing at the University apartments in Vienna, as I travel there frequently." The blond agent looked him straight in the eye, not in a challenging fashion, but one filled with honesty and confidence.

"Very well, everything seems to be in order. You may board now." Illya was handed his papers and hurried along onto the train. "You are lucky Professor, this it the last train to Austria, as railway service is being temporarily shut down at noon. They are investigating those terrible bombings last night, so many people were injured...I will make no statement as to who the guilty parties are, though I curse them." He waved Illya off, "Good luck with your speech."

Illya nodded his thanks as he climbed the steps, breathing a sigh of relief, and settling himself into his seat. A short while later the train finally lurched and his journey to Austria began…

The only thing he heard now was the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track; inside the car itself things had settled into the sounds of silence, allowing Illya to doze off, this time into a dreamless sleep.

Finis

.

.* "Wikipedia."


End file.
